


Just A Normal Friday Night and An Angel Of The Lord

by TheGreenestGreenToEverGreen



Series: Just a Friday Night [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Divergent, Cas is secretly pining for Dean, Chastity is replaced by You, Dean is in denial, Eventual Smut, Excessive Eye Contact, Fluffy Smut, Free to Be You and Me, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, No penetration, Plot, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Supernatural Episode 5.03, There is a homophobic areshole at the start of the fic, background pre slash destiel, bad language, brothel, he gets what he deserves, hints of Dom!Cas, male reader - Freeform, reader is a sex worker with a heart of gold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 05:53:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15357699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenestGreenToEverGreen/pseuds/TheGreenestGreenToEverGreen
Summary: So it should have been your average friday night working at your local Strip Club (read: brothel). The usual drunken sleazeballs and the expected slim pickings for the token gay act on staff. But when an oddball in a trench coat shows up (with the most captivating blue eyes you have ever seen) - it becomes a night you will never forget.





	Just A Normal Friday Night and An Angel Of The Lord

**Author's Note:**

> A/N - I was trying to write pure smut, but my brain won’t do it. Instead you have a slow burn with fluffy smutty goodness towards the end.  
> Based around Season 5 Episode 3 - Free to Be You and Me, where Dean takes Cas to a strip club for their last night on Earth. Cannon divergent because you are there that night, and Chastity suggests that you look after the guy in the trench coat.  
> Cas is still all formal and new and don’t worry if you think the angel should be with a certain hunter, the events of this fic are just a one off.  
> Unbeta’d so apologies for all errors.

—o0o—-

Prologue.

“Hey Fuck Face!” You yell as you skirt the large black car parked in the dark alley, heading towards the back door of your Club. “When a lady says no, it means fucking No!”

The greasy piece of shit is still pawing at Chastity and she is either going to put her cigarette out on him, or knee him in the balls. You’re tempted to stand back and watch but sometimes these things can turn ugly, especially if the John thinks the girl is alone. Plus its a friday night and that crowd can get rowdy early.

“I don't see no ladies here.” The prick is stupid enough to mutter, causing Chastity’s eyes turn mean. But then the fool looks over to you with a drunken smirk, “No ladies, but I do see a nice prettyboy Fa-” 

His slur cuts off in a sharp cry of pain, his body collapsing to the floor, hunched around wounded his groin. Chastity’s knees are pretty boney and she packs a hefty wallop for a little thing.

“That’s my friend you’re talking about, you fucking piece of shit!” She literally spits on him as he lies withering on the floor.

The scene is beautifully framed in the dim circle of light, illuminated by the security lamp over the fire exit. You ‘Accidentally’ kick the sobbing drunk in the ribs, as you step over him to bang loudly on the metal door. 

“Hey Mike, there’s a piece of shit out here was giving Chastity grief.” You call to the friday night bouncer. “Can you come and take out the trash?”

Muffled sounds come from the door latch turning, before rusty hinges squeal. “He still breathing?” Mike asks with only mild curiosity. 

“For now.” Chass mutters, “But homophobic arseholes, who wanna talk trash about my friend, while trying to sample the merchandise for free, don't deserve oxygen.”

Mike glares. It's not a pretty sight. He’s a big buy with a heavy brow, busted nose and mean mouth. No one smart gets on the wrong side of Mike, but he has a soft spot for his favourites, and you and Chass are top of that list.

The big guy isn't gentle as he picks up one of the drunks feet and starts dragging him away. You share a look with Chastity and snicker as you hear the odd thud accompanied by another moan, before Mike physically pitches the guy into the dark, a thud sounding as he splats on the sidewalk.

“I don't wanna see you back here,” The threat is growled, “Or next time, I’ll take off your balls, after the lady is finished battering ya.”

If the idiot manages a response you don’t hear it, and Mike stomps back, giving you both a look. “You all good?” 

“Yeah, no Big.” Chass replies and you nod.

“Cool. Hurry it up, your break is almost over Chass,” he says, then looks over to you, “and your shift starts in 10 minutes and you need to get dressed.”

Your large black coat slips easily off your shoulders and turn to shake your pert arse at the bouncer, not at all shameful despite the world's smallest denim hot pants. “I am dressed!” you wink. The outfit is completed by a tight sleeveless, red plaid shirt - tied up to reveal your six pack - and brown leather cowboy boots. “I’ve been working on a new routine!”

The big guy just rolls his eyes fondly and turns to head in. “9 minutes!” He growls ‘harshly’ as you laugh.

Chass lights herself another cigarette and takes a deep puff, careful of her lipstick. She’s eyeing you with platonic appreciation. “Damn boy! You’re looking fine!”

With another laugh you give her a twirl, coat draped over one arm, but still managing to incorporate a seductive revolve of the hips. You do look good. You worked hard, both on your look and your dance moves. But it also helps that you are 23, slim built, lightly muscled, with lines just soft enough to be cute. Or to be taken on as the only boy at this strip club (brothel) as they experiment with expanding their ‘merchandise’. 

Honestly it's not ideal, if you were in a bigger city you would get a job in an actual gay club, but in this backwater, nowhere town, you’re just lucky to get work. They are doing their best to be all modern and diverse and shit. Gluten free vegan bar snacks, check. Unisex toilets, check. A black girl, check. A gay boy, check. ‘Lesbians welcome’ signs. You roll your eyes at their well intentioned stupidity. They aren’t actually bad people, just backwater, and paid work is paid work. Besides the girls are all cool, seeing you as a little brother rather than competition. It could definitely be worse.

A deep breath of the cool night air and you square your shoulders, putting on your game face. Mike left a wedge into the door, so there is no need to knock, you just move to head in. “You sure you're all good Hon?” You ask Chass as you pass.

“Just a regular Friday night, Sugar.” She grins, waving you inside. “Go shake that cute little arse of yours. There was a pair of cuties came in and sat in my section, and I have a good feeling about the shy one, so you be sure to put on a good show!” 

You’re laughing again as you walk in. Chass insists that she has Gay-dar, as if every well groomed man who isn't a bastard must be gay! Watching her attempt to set you up with straight men can be amusing (if occasionally risky, ‘though Mike keeps things in line) but her heart is in the right place.

—o0o—

Chapter 1 - Friday Night at the Club

The club is loud and dark. Music pulsing through the air. The clink of drinks and the hubbub of background conversation, swirling like a counterpart to the pulse of sex and hedonism. The girls are doing rounds in their costumes, bringing drinks or offering companionship. Mike and the other two bouncers stick to the edges, like oversized guardian mother hens. The friday night crowd is warming up. 

You’ve been up on stage and done your set. You were pretty damn hot, though you say so yourself, and your arse looked all kinds of good in these shorts. Your six pack totally lickable as you had stretched your arms up over your head before dropping seductively to your knees at the end of your routine. There had only been a scatter of applause and no one had approached with propositions or tips, but that wasn’t unusual for your first act. You noted the applause before you left the raised stage. A quick trip to backstage to clean up and you were onto the floor to do rounds. Making a beeline towards the ones who had shown interest. You didn’t expect to get a bite yet, but you could start warming them up. Small town guys sometimes needed a few drinks before they decided to give in to the urge. But you’d be surprised the ones who came out of the woodwork once the liquor was flowing and the offer was on the table. You’d likely get a few BJ requests after your next set. So in the meantime it was smile and saunter and offer more drinks.

The cuties that Chastity had mentioned were still sat in her section, talking quietly. They were certainly easy on the eyes, but you weren’t really picking up a vibe from them. The handsome feller with the strong jaw, pretty eyes and styled hair, might have been a possibility, but he was eyeing every pair of tits that walked past with obvious appreciation. He had a confident smirk that said he considered himself a ladies man. You certainly wouldn't have found it a hardship to look after him for an hour or two, (not with lips that lush) and he could well be bi, but he wasn't advertising that fact just now.

The other had his head down and wasn’t making eye contact with anyone. A big tan trench coat over a rumpled suit, not doing him any favours - although the messy bed hair and soft pink lips were definitely a plus.

Chass’ was wrong on this one, and you were about to move on when the lady herself sauntered up to your side, manicured nails slipping round your bicep as she took a surprisingly firm grip.

“Honey, you won't get no customers by being shy.” She smirked, tugging you as she made her way to their table. Why you let her get away with shit like this, you really don’t know!

“Dean this is a den of iniquity, I should not be here.” The guy in the trench coat was muttering as you approached.

“Dude you full on rebelled against heaven, inequity is one of the perks!”

Awww shit. Religious freaks. You tugged lightly on Chastity's arm, but she either hadn’t heard them or was set on her plan. Her and her stupid Gay-dar.

“Hi. What's your name?” Chass beamed confidently and with just the right amount of smoulder. Unfortunately she directed the question to the werido religious guy in the coat.

Then the oddball looked up and holy shit…!! He was looking straight at you, and sweet mother of all things holy, his eyes! You had never seen such blue eyes. It wasn't just the colour, although they were pure like a mountain lake kissed by a summer sky. It was their depth and their overwhelming sense of peace. Like you would fall into them and the world would drift away and no troubles touch you ever again.

“Cas! His name is Cas,” The friend blurted hastily. You blinked realising you both must have been staring silently for a while, “and what's your name?” The friend was all confident and: ‘I would rock your world baby!’, as he directed the question to Chastity.

Chass smiled, being careful to include them both, without promising too much, “Well, I’m Chastity, but I’m not sure I’m what your friend here is looking for!”

“Huh??” The guy didn't have a clue what she meant, but as Chastity turned to you with a little ‘voilà’ motion, he choked as if seeing you for the first time and realising you were a dude. 

“Uhhhh, no…. that is to say….. he doesn't… um..” He shot trench coat guy a slightly panicked look, but the other was still staring at you. 

Normally you would back away when a customer was clearly as uncomfortable as the big guy. But those blue eyes were all you could think about and damn if you didn’t want to have a go.

“Hi,” You said in a low smooth voice. No pet names or extra flirt, just direct eye contact, your head dipped ever so slightly. “First time?” You ask on a hunch.

The blue eyes flicked over to the friend, (for permission? reassurance?) before they came back to you and he nodded minutely.

“Well. We can take things slow if you’re interested?” You try not to get your hopes up. Just put the offer on the table and if he isn't interested, find another customer. You repeat that sentence over and over in your head but you can’t help the way your heart falls a little as his friend jumps in.

“No!... that is to say, not that there’s anything wrong with…. but he ain’t… he doesn't…. Isn’t into guys…. Right Cas?!”

There is a frown and a tilt of the head and those deep ocean eyes squint ever so slightly. “I am utterly indifferent to gender or sexual orientation Dean,” His voice is gravelly low and ever so slightly confused, but (Jesus Christ!) it does things to you. These are not the right denim cut offs to be wearing with a chubby! Down boy!

You run your tongue over suddenly dry lips as the friend just stares with a confused (concerned? hesitant?) expression. He isn't happy. You don't know if its because of you, or if he just honestly never realised his friend was bi (or so the guy seems to be saying in his strange stilted way.) 

Chastity breaks the statemate with her usual lack of tact, but warm sunny disposition that allows her to get away with it. “Alright then.” She takes trench coat guy’s hand (did the other call him Cas?) pulling him up from his seat, placing his hand in yours. “Why don't you boys head off to the back for a little relaxation.”

“Uh Cas?” The friend, Dean, gets up. “You sure about this?” His face is a bit flushed, and he can't maintain eye contact but his voice isn't confrontational, only unsure.

“I thought this was why we came Dean?” Cas replies.

“Oh, um, yeah sure.” He seems to gather himself and the uncertainty (with a hint of pain?) falls from his face. It’s replaced by a confident smirk - that isn't quite as convincing as the one he had directed to Chastity. “Okay, go get ‘em tiger.” He says with too much cheer, and hands over some money, “Just … dont order off menu…” His voice trails off and you almost burst out laughing as he falters; picturing gay sex, and what ‘off menu’ might consist of. You don't laugh, you are too much of a professional, but you soften a bit towards him as you mentally mark him down as ‘in denial’. Ah well, maybe after this he will get his friend Cas drunk one evening and convince him to share all the details. Then before they know it they will be making out on the couch.

—o0o—

You gesture Cas into the room ahead of you, gently closing the door behind you. He stands, rock like, in the middle of the room, turning only his head to look back at you. And then nothing. Just the deep peaceful blue of those bottomless eyes and the quietness of the room cut off from the club.

Shit, you realise that you were staring again, and you have no idea how long you stood like an idiot. What is it about those eyes that are so hypnotising? He is going to think you’re a moron. Or maybe not. He’s not exactly a Chatty Cathy himself.

“Okay.” You say, moving to his front and lifting your hands slowly to his coat lapels. “I know you said this was your first time, so we’ll go slow. I’ll suggest a few things and you tell me what you think. But how about we start with getting you more comfortable? Why don’t we take off this coat and jacket and sit you on the bed.” 

He nods and your eyes drop to his soft chapped pink lips. He doesn’t speak - though you unconsciously lick your own lips in encouragement. But when you look back up he hasn’t moved, is still locked on your eyes. Okey dokey! You are definitely driving this bus, might as well crack on.

Your hands skim under the trench coat and up over his shoulders as he allows you to tug the coat off his arms. You fold it and lay it on the chair besides the bed. You repeat the same action with the suit jacket but are surprised to feel well developed lean muscles under your hands, warm through the thin cotton shirt. As you fold the jacket, you eye him speculatively. Body like that shouldn’t be hiding under a trench coat. Damn what a waste. Your eyes fall to his crotch as you wonder what else he is hiding under that suit.

A step back returns you to his front. One eyebrow raised in question, you lift your hands to his tie. Again just the slightest of nods, so you lean in (closer then strictly necessary) and allow your breath to tickle the side of his neck as your hands stroke along his collarbone and the hollow of his throat. You slip loose the knot of the tie, allowing your fingers to trail down his warm firm chest as you pull the material free.

Still no movement. His breathing hasn’t changed either, and as you look up from what should have been one very sexy move (come on man, reverse strip tease, that’s only hotter if you use teeth!) it’s like he is staring into your soul.

“You know, your father does love you.” His gravelly voice is low but firm, and you falter in your movements confused by the sudden statement.

“What?!” Your mind is blank, that sentence doesn’t feature in this scenario. And if that was supposed to be kinky then it’s creepy as fuck.

“He didn’t understand about your sexuality, but he still loved you. He just never knew how to express himself emotionally and his fear of how others would treat you caused him react exactly the same way he feared.”

What the fuck?! What the ever loving fuck?! Who the hell does this guy think he is? And what the fuck gives him the right to talk about you as if he knows you, or to defend that piece of shit you used to call a father? 

Stepping back frowning, your hands fall to your sides, fingers clenched into fists - not sure if you want to punch the bastard or scream for Mike to come and kick his teeth in. You open your mouth without knowing what you are about to shout (except that it will be loud and feature the work ‘Fuck’ quite liberally) when you glare into his eyes…. and they are still calm and deep. There’s no creepy smirk, or pious bullshit, or insincere concern. There is just openness and peace in the endless expanse of a clear sky.

Your hands unclench without your command. Your breath catches in your throat. “Who are you?” It’s a whisper, because you can’t figure this man out, and you don’t know why you aren’t kicking his arse right now, telling him to get the fuck out.

“My Name is Castiel, I am an Angel of the Lord.”

—o0o—

Chapter 2 - An Angel of the Lord

You smile. Castiel: Angel of the Lord. It’s endearing for some reason. He is obviously crazy. But it doesn't come across as a: ‘I will kill you in your sleep because the voices told me to’ kind of crazy. It’s more like ‘I did too much acid in the 60s but I found the secrets of the universe and the answer to everything is love’ kinda crazy. And to be honest, he pulls it off. The calm in his eyes. (Jesus Christ you need to stop going on about his eyes. You sound like a bad romance novel, but honestly they are like a comfort blanket to your soul.)

You make your decision. “Okay Castiel,” You take hold of the board warm shoulders covered by the rumpled dress shirt and manoeuvre him to sit on the bed. “Rule number 1, there is no talking about anyone’s fathers…. unless you want me to call you ‘Daddy’” you ignore his head tilt and frown, “and we are so not doing that today!” 

You kneel down in front of him, “So what do you say, we get down to business? Lap dances with grinding to completion - no touching - are $50, hand jobs - boxers off - are $75, blow jobs are $100, and anal is $200, dirty talk you get for free.” You wink at him but you already know he won’t get the joke.

“I don’t know what any of that is.” He replies in that oh so sexy low tone, that you realise is totally unconscious on his part.

Wait? What?!....You are dumbfounded as you realise what he just said. “Cas… are you telling me you are a virgin?” Holy shit he actually nodded, you had just thought it was his first time paying, not his first time ever. Dude has to be at least 30! How the hell does that happen when the man is 6 foot of sleak muscle topped with black messy bed hair and piercing blue eyes? 

Okay no pressure. You do a mental 180.

“Right, okay Hun. Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m going to start with a hand job and if you’re happy with that I’ll next use my mouth.” 

Your hands on his bent knees, you shuffle yourself closer to the bed, parting his legs, running your fingers up to the front of his (holy fuck his thighs are ripped) hips, to rest lightly on either side of his groin.

He looks down to your hands. “Ah. You are talking about fellatio. I have heard of this practice. I am fully aware of the mechanics of human reproduction, and know that several variations are used in sexual recreation. I am not however familiar with your terminology or… “ he falters for the first time and looks vaguely uncomfortable, “... experienced in such matters.”

Jesus Christ(!), he must have taken ALL the fucking acid. Who talks like that? But it's kinda cute when you think about it. (You are so gone on him.) “Honey. That is why my job exists.” 

“Your job is the sale of sexual favours.” He replies, with a slightly stern look, and you remember his ‘den of iniquity’ comment. Ah, this might be why he’s a 30 year old virgin.

Your hands drift up to his chest and begin unbuttoning his shirt. Tone mild, like this is a hypothetical conversation between friends, you ask: “So sex is dirty and wrong?” You pop open two more buttons while you talk. 

“No!” His response is stronger and more animated than any he has given so far (although in anyone else it’s still mild) “Sexual intimacy is sacred. At its highest, it is one of the purest forms of communion the human soul experiences. It is like the harmonised voices of the Heavenly Host in the glory of creation. It cannot be valued in money.”

Your hands still on the last button and you are once again enthralled by those blue eyes that see so much yet know so little. “Oh Sweetheart.” You whisper, wise though you are only 23 - but sex work will do that for you: “Every single one of us are looking for a glimpse of heaven in the arms of another, and if you are lucky enough to find it, don't you ever let it go! But I ain't here to sell you Heaven, I’m here to sell you a few minutes of comfort. And a few minutes of comfort in a dark cold world is still a precious gift.” 

You can almost see your words as they tumble through his mind and his head twitches like it wants to tilt, but the eyes are wide and clear, and when he nods his face is open. The smile you return is almost pure.

It takes moments for you to remove his shoes and socks, and tuck them to one side. The shirt comes off and this time you don't fold it, just toss it away. The clink of his belt buckle sounds loud in the still room as you open the belt and pull it from the loops. It follows the shirt. The button and fly are the work of a moment and you motion him to shift his hips, as you take hold of his boxers and suit trousers and pull them down in one go. They follow the shirt as your eyes rove over the wealth of pale skin set before you. His muscles are lean but defined, like a swimmers build. His firm chest adorned with small pale pink nipples to match his soft lips. A glorious dusky trail of dark hair leads down between well cut hip bones to where he lays soft amist dark scruff.

Damn. You feel heat pool in your groin, and you wiggle slightly in your shorts. Normally it's all business when you are with a client, but this man is getting to you. And your mouth waters at the thought of what his body would feel like draped over your back, rocking hard against your arse, his gravelly voice rasping in your ear as he moves in strong firm thrusts. Deep breaths man, take it easy. Virgin remember!

Sliding your hands back up his thighs, you meet his eyes as your hand closes gently but securely around his cock. “Just relax and let the feelings flow.” You rumble. There is no response other then that calm steady gaze, but you grip the base of his cock in your left hand and begin to stroke gently with the other. Nice and steady with exactly the right amount of pressure, just the way you like it yourself on a lazy sunday morning in the shower. He is still soft, but thats okay, newbies often start shy.

“Such a gorgeous thick cock,” You purr, not too flirty, but plenty of warm admiration, “Gonna make you feel so good. Get you nice and hard and panting. Get you all worked up and right to the edge before I bring you down nice and slow.” You drop your hand from the base of his cock to tickle lightly at his sack, glancing up seductively to see if the stimulation does it for him.

His head is cocked, his breathing steady. He is looking at you like you are an interesting exhibit in a museum display. So not the response you are aiming for! Time to up the game. You let him go for a second and kick off your cowboy boots. The plaid shirt takes moments to untie but you slow down as you slip it from your shoulders and drop it behind you. Your hands trail over your chest and pause to play with your small hard nipples, before your right hand drops to caress its way over your abs and stop right at the top of your cut offs. His eyes follow the movement and you try to hide a smile. Rising up on your knees you flick open the button and peel the tiny skin tight shorts over your slim hips. No underwear of course, not in those shorts. And you are shaved smooth for work. You sit, turning the move into a dance, twisting to sit back, knees up in front, as you draw the shorts down your legs before throwing them away. Your hands return to your ankles and slide back up your smooth muscled calves, and up, knees parting, drawing the gaze until you frame your cock. It only takes you a few strokes for the blood to rush south and the chub that you have been sporting all evening blooms into a semi. You let out your breath in a heavy sigh. 

There is something more now in his eyes as he watches intently, as if fascinated by your pleasure. Ahh so that's the game, he wants the other person to be into it.

You roll back onto your knees and shuffle in close. “Do you know how hot you make me?” You whisper, hands back on those glorious thighs. (What would they feel like wrapped around your waist as you pounded into that arse? Fuck.) You lean down so that your next words ghost warm over his cock. “You know how turned on I am just by looking at you? The things you make me feels as I run my hands over these beautiful, strong thighs?” Your lips brush his length with just the slightest pressure. “How much I am going to enjoy this?” You say as you open your mouth over the head of his soft cock and suck gently. And you're not lying. His flesh is hot and silky against the inside of your lips, his weight noticeable even when soft. The tantalising brush of hair on his legs tickles your shoulders as you nestle into the Vee. You moan around him, letting the vibrations play through your tongue as you bring up your hands to circle the base of his cock. You suck cock like a pro. (Haha pun intended.) But still after several minutes there isn't even a twitch.

He slips from your lips as you sit back on your heels and look up. He is back to studying you again. “Uh…” You keep your voice soft but most of the sexy purr is gone. “This not doing it for ya? If there is something else you wanna try you gotta tell me, I can't read your mind Hon.”

His voice is pensive when he answers. “Is this not the type of stimulation that most people find… comforting?” His says it like he’s asking if you enjoy coffee over tea and is interested in what factors shaped your reasoning.

“Well, yeah, most dudes like having their cock sucked. But hey, I ain't here to judge. You want something else, you just gotta tell me….  Have you liked anything we’ve done so far tonight?”

The guy thinks for a moment, “I very much enjoyed looking at your eyes.” 

For a moment you are at a loss, and again you find yourself wondering who this man is. How someone so…. innocent can exist in the world that you know. But you are also resourceful and have an idea.

“Get up on the bed and lay on your side.” You tell him, rising to your feet.

He does as you suggest, shuffling back on his arse till he can lay his head on the pillow and roll onto his side. You admire the view. The messy black hair, the kissable pink lips and light stubble, the broad shoulders and the line of his ribs. The very nice, firm, round arse that sits on top those strong, lightly furred thighs. And not forgetting those blue eyes that are looking to you for direction. Sweet Jesus. The things you would do to this pure innocent ball of unwitting sex appeal, if you had the chance!

You crawl onto the bed and move to lay down beside him, rolling onto your side, face to face. Your arm which is squashed into the bed, extends till your palm rests on his warm chest. Your other hand slides down his free arm until you take his fingers and guide them to your cock. Once they are wrapped in a firm grip, you let go - reaching down and across to mirror the same hold on him. Leaning in close so that your breath caresses his lips as you whisper. “Copy what I do and keep looking at my eyes.”

You squeeze him gently and instantly he mirrors the motion to the exact degree of pressure. A light stroke down his length and he does the same back to you. All the while your gazes are locked and you find yourself held captive by his stare. 

As he copies every action precisely, your skin prickles and your nipples tighten. A thrilling rush of excitement blooms at his immediate obedience and your stomach clenches as a firm stroke brings you up to full harness. Your breathing picks up. You hear his breathing do the same. You have no idea if he is mimicking that also, but you feel another wave of heat flow down to your groin at the hint arousal. Your arse clenches and your cock twitches in his grasp, the rhythm of your hands becoming faster. There is nothing but the blue of his gaze and the fire in your groin, as your heart pounds to feed blood southward. 

Then his cock fills in your hand and your breath explodes from your chest. With him hard and heavy in your grasp, a small thrust of his hips becomes the most erotic thing you have ever experienced. And as your arousal intensifies, he drinks in your every reaction.

You fight the need to close your eyes and bask in the sensations, the need to hide from the gaze that pierces your soul, exposes you more intimately then any kink you have ever explored. But as you are laid bare, you are swept up, and you feel the start of an orgasm, begin to tingle in your feet - easing its way up the muscles in your legs, tightening your arse. The feeling flickering across your heaving chest, like electricity through your nipples and down your clenched abs towards your cock. In the background you notice that he has taken the lead. His actions are strong and confident, without hesitation, needing no guidance from you. That's not to say he is experienced. There are no tricks or twists, that a pro might throw in to spice up proceedings. There is just firm control and decisiveness. Like a dancer or a professional athlete, who has total command of their body and just needed an example to gain perfect execution.

It's a shock to the system when his free arm grasps your shoulder and he lifts you over his body with one arm. Manhandling you across to his other side and onto your back. You aren't massive by anyone's consideration but he lifted you like you were made of paper. And he moves into the space above your body, like he owns the very air that you breath. (Which is something you are not doing very much of right now, your chest frozen, your heart seemingly stopped). His eyes still locked on yours, you stare back in wonder. His face is intense almost fierce - in a way that would make you fear to be his enemy, and thankful to be under his protection.

The hand that squeezes your cock is like a defibrillator to the chests. The world jumps back into motion with a urgent building in your core and the roar of blood in your ears.

“Cas!” It’s a breathy gasp, “Cas! I’m gonna…” It's totally unprofessional. Losing control like you are 15 and are about to come in your pants at the sight of Chad Peterson in the showers after gym. But nothing about this night has exactly been normal. And the maelstrom of those blue eyes still have you held and sucked deep into the maw. You belatedly attempt to do your job and stroke at his cock, to bring him with you as you hurtle towards the edge. But it's like your hand is irrelevant, his cock is hard and heavy, pressed into the groove of your hip - it isn't your hand that has his attention. Its like he is watching your soul, watching the bolts of colour that streak through your body as they are gasped from your lips and shine from your eyes. And as your balls tighten and the clench in your arse shoots electricity up your spine, you feel him still above you.

“Now!” The gravel voice is a command that would cause armies to charge and you do not think to disobey.

Every muscle clenches to the point of destruction and you feel warm stripes of come begin to pulse from your cock. Through the tidal wave of heat engulfing your body you fight to maintain eye contact. His muscles like granite against you and the last thing you see is blue, before the world explodes in white.

—o0o—

You are more relaxed then you have ever been in your life. Like you're floating in the warm deep waters of a tropical ocean. Every muscle limp but perfectly supported. Your mind too lazy to form thoughts as kisses of lightening still skitter through your limbs, but nothing urges you to do anything other then just be. You lie safe and cradled in the dark….

Wait, why is it dark? Reaching out lazily, you pat the bed at your side and feel the Cas’ warm chest and steady heart beat. He isn't breathing hard or sweating, and you have the strangest idea that he is lying there in the dark watching you.

“What happened to the lights?” You mumble vaguely. The last thing you remember is the best orgasm of your life and the world literally sparking out. Was that your eyes or did that actually happen?

There is a banging at the door. Mike is shouting even as he burst through. “What the fuck was that, there was some kind of explosion!. Kid! Are you alright in here?” 

Cas’ friend is right behind the bouncer and he is shouting as well, “Cas man! What the hell did you do?”

At that Mike turns a threatening glare to your client, illuminated by the light from the corridor, but the Unexpected-Sex-God doesn't seem concerned by his nudity. He seems merely perplexed by the comotion. “I apologize if I caused a disturbance, that was not my intention.” He intones gravely. And you would laugh but honestly, you are still too lazy, floating in the warm and fuzzies.

Dean takes one look at the bouncer who is about to explode and shouts to his friend, “Time to go Buddy.” Snatching up the Trench Coat and grabbing one naked arm before hauling arse out of the room and down towards the rear entrance.

Mike looks like he wants to go after them, but you still haven't answered and the big guys is stumbling into the dark to make sure you’re okay.

“Come on kid, talk to me! If that bastard hurt ya, I’m gonna….” The look he turns back to the lit doorway is murderous, so you try to find some words.

Your eyes travel round the blacked out room before landing back on your friend. There is a hint of wonder in your fucked out voice, as you mumble, “He said he was a motherfucking Angel of the Lord, I thought he was...y’know, Simple or something! but he was an actual! fucking! angel!” And you should move to grab the sheet to cover up, (you are lying there, butt naked and covered in cooling come) but you feel almost stoned and suddenly you are chuckling through this floaty state of bliss. Mike is giving you this really worried look, but all that makes you do is laugh harder.

And you thought this was going to be just another boring Friday night! Dude never even paid and you ain’t the least bit mad. You are never going to forget this night, and that's the god’s honest mother fucking truth.

—o0o—

Epilogue.

The fire door slams shut behind the pair and despite any lingering concern, Dean is obviously pumped with adrenaline as they both stumble out into the alleyway.

Cas tugging on his trench coat as he walks, his customary suit having apparently appeared out of nowhere.

“Shit Cas! What the fuck was that?” Dean’s question is breathless but there is a sparkle in his eyes.

“I believe it was an orgasm Dean.” Cas’ response is grave and sincere and Dean’s eyes go wide for a moment before he doubles over laughing.

“Damn! Man you need to warn people if you’re gonna put out half the Eastern Seaboard every time you get your rocks off!” He gasps between laughs still clutching at his knees.

The angel stares at the green eyes lit with mirth. Eyes that shine so much brighter than those he had watched not 5 minutes ago. The smallest smile curls the immortal’s lips as his grace sings in response. And as Dean Winchester slings an arm about his shoulders and, still chuckling, leads the way to the sleek black car parked at the mouth of the alleyway - the wayward child of god smiles even more. There is nothing he wouldn’t give to see Dean Winchester’s soul sing with colours even brighter than the soul of the boy in the club. 

FIN  
  



End file.
